By this time they were at the corner, where Edwards and Natty were in the act of drawing the almost helpless body of Benjamin through the aperture. The oxen had started back from their hay, and were standing with their heads down the street, leaving room for the party to act in.
“Throw the hay into the cart,” said Edwards, “or they will suspect how it has been done. Quick, that they may not see it.”
Natty had just returned from executing this order, when the light of the keeper's candle shone through the hole, and instantly his voice was heard in the jail exclaiming for his prisoners.
“What is to be done now?” said Edwards; “this drunken fellow will cause our detection, and we have not a moment to spare.”
“Who's drunk, ye lubber?” muttered the steward.
“A break-jail! a break-jail!” shouted five or six voices from within.
“We must leave him,” said Edwards.
“'Twouldn't be kind, lad,” returned Natty; “he took half the disgrace of the stocks on himself to-day, and the creatur' has feeling.”
At this moment two or three men were heard issuing from the door of the “Bold Dragoon,” and among them the voice of Billy Kirby.
“There's no moon yet,” cried the wood-chopper; “but it's a clear night. Come, who's for home? Hark! what a rumpus they're kicking up in the jail—here's go and see what it's about.”